Around three months ago, I wrote a post called “Billy No Mates,” where I explained how the lack of friends during the period that inspired me to write “He Was Weird,” has given me much anxieties over the years that passed. I was and sometimes am still worried that nobody is going to like me and no one is going to be my friend. Recently, I realise that there is another aspect to these anxieties that I didn’t think about then. So, I’ll post about that now.

Last week, I had a small vacation with my wife and two of my step-granddaughters in the Northern British city of Newcastle Upon Tyne. My wife goes every year (she loves the city) but this was the first time, I accompanied her in four years but that’s not important. Our routine is that at night, she settles down by reading and spending quality time with the grand-kids while I go out and have a few pints. I usually toddle home sometime between 11 or 12 and never intoxicated.

Well that was before our first night there. Now, before I go on, what you are about to read is not an attempt by me to make any excuses. I went to the only rock bar left in Newcastle and was enjoying my beer while listening to good tunes. A small group of people were nearby and the lady in the group points out my t-shirt and says it’s cool. (My shirt displayed pictures of George Bush and George W Bush about a caption that read ‘Dumb and Dumber.’) Anyway, I join these people and we get along famously. The pub closes and it is suggested we go to a place that’s open longer, so I follow them. When that place closes, we hit another place and then another. It turned out that the one guy was determined to drink Newcastle dry this night. When we hit another bar, it is now three AM and I am thinking that I should return to my hotel but this guy states that he just paid for me to get in the place so I went in. In the end, I didn’t get back to my hotel room until after five in the morning. My wife wasn’t best pleased especially as I wrongly assumed that she would be so tired from our trip and the day that she would be asleep. She was worried that something happened to me and yes, I did have to do a lot of apologising that morning.

Why did I do it? Everyone says that that was completely out of character for me. Here’s my explanation which is not an attempted justification. On reflection, because of my worry about having no friends, I have been known to respond to anyone who shows the slightest hint of friendship towards me. Like so many times in my life, these people on the night offered their friendship and in my mind, I was so grateful of this that I had to take them up on it. Furthermore, wanting to be a good friend, I was willing to stay out to the wee hours of the morning, although I didn’t consume nearly as much alcohol as the gentleman who wanted to drink the town dry. When that guy paid my way into the one club, I thought it unfriendly to then go and leave, so I stayed even though I knew deep down it wasn’t the right thing to do.

Another related topic was that throughout my early life, bullies and others would exploit my desire for friends. They would have me do things for their amusement or that would get me in trouble. While, I didn’t engage in any such activity this night except for staying out late, nor do I think that those persons would do such things, it did happen in the past. I do touch on this in “He Was Weird.” When Mark is in sixth grade, many of his classmates use his desire for friends to make him a laughingstock and then a target.

I think that friendship is a mine field with many people who contend with Asperger’s Syndrome. Like me, they want friends but don’t always have the correct social reading skills to make friends correctly. The results of this can often times be disasterous. While I wouldn’t say that about this experience because that was quite positive, I can see the potential danger it can cause.

To buy He Was Weird, go to: https://www.amazon.co.uk/He-Was-Weird-Michael-Lefevre/dp/1909740942/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1472674930&sr=1-1&keywords=he+was+weird

First of all, I would like to express my deepest thanks for those who commented on my last post, “Sh*t for Brains Strikes Again.” People were very supportive of me and all comments are deeply appreciated. Down deep, I know that in reality, I am not stupid or retarded or have sh*t for brains. Furthermore, I know that I blew a silly mistake way out of proportion. At the time, I justified it by saying that it was the straw that broke the camel’s back because I have made too many silly mistakes like this in the past. This time, it just got to me too much but I have found like so many things from my life, putting it down on here helps me to get it into perspective and get it off my chest.

Saying all that, I still feel that I am suffering the consequences from my little silly mistake from last week. What I feared would happen actually did. Because I lost my notepad at the festival, I had no notes to refer to when I posted about the festival on my 80smetalman blog. Therefore, a post that might have taken half an hour to write took over an hour and a half to two hours to do so. I had moments just sitting at the computer going “Uh uh” in an attempt to recall moments from the festival. Even when I did, there were anxieties as to whether or not I got my facts totally right. When I write, I pride myself in getting my facts right, something Hollywood doesn’t seem to care about and that leads me to my next point.

As an American living in the United Kingdom, I have heard much criticism of Americans by British people over the historical inaccuracy of many Hollywood films. First, let me say, actually scream, that Hollywood is NOT America! Most Americans know that movies based on history are over romanticized and largely inaccurate historically. Hollywood’s attitude is why let a little thing like historical truth get in the way of a good story? Although it doesn’t help that the British media finds one ignorant redneck in the Backwater County, USA who believes Hollywood is historically right and then projects the false belief that all 300 million Americans believe the same. No they don’t!

Family Guy

However, this stereotype has effected me in my writing, especially in the case of my first book, “Rock and Roll Children.” When I wrote that book, I was so obsessed with historical accuracy, I feel that the story has suffered from it somewhat. I worry that if I get something historical wrong, that people in Britain will point an accusing finger at me and say I’m a typical American. No, I wouldn’t be a typical American, I would be in the same tree as Hollywood and I don’t want that either. Bringing it back to the festival, it all has me worried that I’m going to do the same there. I know it sounds daft but it’s real to me.

That was all the reason why I railed on myself in that post last week. That and the fact that in ancient times, mistakes like that resulted in being called names which I believed I deserved at the time. Now, I know better and I try to put it behind me. Writing about it here is a great help and I appreciate you for taking the time to read it.

To buy He Was Weird go to: https://www.amazon.co.uk/He-Was-Weird-Michael-Lefevre/dp/1909740942/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1471888978&sr=1-1&keywords=he+was+weird

Yes, that’s what I call myself sometimes because sometimes I do something which is ludicrously stupid and it has some consequences. Well this past Sunday, I made a hum dinger. This past weekend, I went with my stepson, his girlfriend and friend to the Bloodstock Festival. For those who don’t know what that is, it’s a big heavy metal festival that takes place every year in the middle of England. I have another blog which is about heavy metal in the 1980s which is named after my user name here on WordPress, 80smetalman. At the moment, I am in the process of writing all about the festival on that blog. Before going, I thought it would be a great idea if I took a note pad to make notes of the bands I saw and general goings on from the weekend so when it came to write about it, I have something to draw on so when I sat down at the computer, I wouldn’t be there trying to claw back memories. Well, it was going fine until the very last band of the festival. During the break, I decided to go for something to eat and because I kept my notepad and pen in my back pocket, I took it out so I could sit comfortably to eat. That was good, however, when I got up, I didn’t take the notepad with me. Unfortunately, I only discovered that I hadn’t done so until I was nearly home later that night. That meant that an entire weekend’s worth of effort went down the drain and now I am reduced to doing something I was trying to avoid on the other blog.

Now, I know everyone makes mistakes. I also know that what happened wasn’t the end of the world and it for most people, it’s nothing to get upset about. However, what upsets me is that I have been doing stupid stuff like this for over 50 years! My mistakes include things like forgetting to take my trip money into school with me the day before the trip when that money was left where I sat for breakfast every morning. Another time when traveling on a plane, I put my car keys through the metal detector and failed to get them on the other end. I had to wait several hours at the airport I flew into before they were put on the next flight and returned. See, my mistakes have semi serious consequences.

It’s not only me, things like this have effect on others as well. They have gotten angry and upset with me over it and sometimes they show their anger by calling me names like the one above. Some have threatened violence on account of it. Obviously, it has also been the catalyst for much of the bullying I suffered in my early life. The problem is that I think that I deserve it. It was my stupid forgetting of something that caused them to be angry with me and their reaction is justified. Some people have a short endurance point with these things and we part company although true friends have learned to endure. It doesn’t make me feel any less guilty when I do something stupid and it effects them.

I have tried all sorts of exercises, drills and memory techniques to try to avoid doing these ridiculous things. Some of these have had limited success. In the end, I will still forget something or to do something and I will be back here calling myself sh*t for brains.

To buy He Was Weird go to https://www.amazon.co.uk/He-Was-Weird-Michael-Lefevre/dp/1909740942/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1471338074&sr=1-1&keywords=he+was+weird

Recent feedback from someone who has read “He Was Weird” stated that the climax of the story when Mark goes and shoots up the school pretty much followed the script of the two boys who carried out the Columbine shooting. If this was the case, then I can say with total certainty that it wasn’t intentional. While I knew some of the hard facts behind the Columbine shooting, I refused to look at the details in order not to plagiarize from the shooting.

Like some of the other books I’ve read about school shootings, there are some similarities with Columbine in “He Was Weird.” The Columbine shooters begin their spree outside the school and Mark also begins his shooting spree in the school playground. However, Mark never goes into the school building because he feels that the playground provides the perfect killing fields for his massacre, which it does. So it’s not completely the same. However, there is a bigger similarity between the two shootings. As Klebold and Harris approach the school to carry out their shooting, they see a friend of theirs and tell him not to go into school. Mark does a similar thing it “He Was Weird.” The day before his planned attack, he tells three classmates who have been friendly with him that he wants to meet them the next morning off school grounds so he can give them something. This way, they are out of the way when Mark carries out his true intentions. In both cases here, the shooters don’t want their friends to get caught in the crossfire.

I know for a fact that Columbine influenced other books on the subject of school shootings as well as mine. The most obvious one was in Jodi Picoult’s “19 Minutes.” In that story, Peter, like the Columbine shooters, sets off a series of pipe bombs in his car to cause a distraction except in Peter’s case, they have more of the desired effect. Mark uses no such things in his rampage in “He Was Weird.” In fact, the Columbine shooting is mentioned quite a bit in the story and we discover that Peter, watches “Bowling for Columbine” as an inspiration.

While Kevin doesn’t copy the Columbine shooters in “We Need to Talk About Kevin” by Lionel Shriver, they definitely are mentioned a fair number of time in the story. Kevin uses them as proof that his massacre was much better planned and executed. He scorns Harris and Klebold for killing themselves at the end.

In the other school shooting novel I read, Nancy Garden’s “Endgame,” there is little evidence of Columbine in the story. Gray simply steals his father’s pistol, goes into school, blows away the main bully and then starts shooting indiscriminately. That brings me to point out further differences with “He Was Weird” to the Columbine shooting. While writing the story, I did play with the idea of when Mark has carried out his shooting and the only ones left on the school playground are his casualties, that a teacher comes out and tries to persuade Mark to put his guns down. Mark responds by shooting the teacher dead but that sounded too much like Columbine and a teacher also gets killed in the Picoult novel. Therefore, I avoided it.

Quite obviously, the Columbine shooting has inspired a ton of media. There are films, books and television programmes all inspired by that fateful day. I can say that I was inspired by it as well when I wrote my book. However, I didn’t copy the shooting when I wrote about mine.

At my very first counselling session nearly thirteen years ago, the counsellor began with having me tell my life story, so I did. I unloaded how I was bullied as a child, especially those three years of hell which would eventually encourage me to write “He Was Weird” to how I was made a social outcast and even persecuted when I got out of the service for the crime of growing my hair long. The counsellor listened and added some thoughts along the way like the fact that one would have thought that people in college would have been more accepting of my eccentric dress and hair styles. However, when I finished, the counsellor’s response was, “You see yourself as a victim.”

Why I saw myself as a victim was the basic theme for the entire year and a half I was in counselling. At the end of that time, although probably before then, we reached the conclusion that the reason why I thought that I had ‘VICTIM’ stamped across my forehead throughout my life was because I was in fact victimised. Having suffered all sorts of bullying in my early life from direct threat and violence to exclusion to exploitation, eventually, no matter the situation, I saw myself as the victim. As a teen, I was the victim because I was a Christian and persecuted for Jesus’s sake. When I left the marines, I was the victim because the civilian populace who didn’t serve their country, didn’t understand what I had gone through. Even when I first came to England, I was a victim because I was American. Years of conditioning in that way has led me to go into victim mode whenever I encounter some adverse situation. Hell, even machinery is on it. I am convinced that all mechanical equipment is programmed not to work properly if owned by me.

Okay, that last one was a joke but it does show that if one is made to feel a victim long enough, they will believe they are one. Especially if they have a condition like Asperger’s Syndrome. It is also why many African Americans seem to play the race card because they actually feel they are victimised for being black. On that note, many Caucasian Americans think that their African counterparts are playing the race card to use it to their advantage, to get welfare, jobs or even get away with committing crimes. Yes, there are those who do but most don’t. Coming back to me, I too have learned to play the victim card to my advantage. Most recently, now that I have come forward and spoken out about how I was treated as a child, I have been accused of trying to get people to feel sorry for me. I don’t want sympathy but I would like the understanding and tolerance I didn’t get way back then.

Today, I still sometimes struggle with going into victim mode. I have to keep reminding myself that I am not a victim but saying that, this doesn’t give anyone an excuse to blame the victim in any bullying situation. Because most people who see themselves as victims, most very likely were at one time.

To buy He Was Weird, go to https://www.amazon.co.uk/He-Was-Weird-Michael-Lefevre/dp/1909740942/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1470160732&sr=1-1&keywords=he+was+weird